


Alterity

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [112]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:13:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5819161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>alterity: noun: ôlˈterədē: the state of being other or different; otherness</p><p>mid 17th century: from late Latin alteritas, from alter ‘other.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alterity

He had always taken pride in his alterity; his otherness, which seemed to keep him safe from making any real connections with anyone. He understood he was unusual from an early age, from his parents, and Mycroft especially, as they tried to smooth his way into society with their lists of "Do this and please, whatever you do, don't do what you just did." For a while, he tried to toe the line, but his curiosity always got the better of him. He didn't really care why it was rude to want to know why that man smelled like the perfume of that other lady and not the one he arrived with; and he didn't understand why the neighborhood kids weren't allowed to play with his collection of poisonous snake skins. "They are just skins! You said other boys like snakes!" He would run into his room after another disastrous play date and slam the door, ignoring any requests that he join the family for dinner.

As he grew from a boy into a lanky, awkward teen, it only got worse, as he stopped trying to make friends or 'associates' as he called them, He spent most evenings shimmying down the tree outside his window and walking to the local pub, using the locals as his first deductions. Of course, he also learned how to box from these sessions, as he once spouted an unwelcome and rude history of an old timer to the crowded room, who happened to be a former lightweight champion.

"Son, I like your spunk, but you gotta learn some tact, I'm probably gonna break your nose tonight, but shake it off, come back tomorrow and I'll teach you, you got reach and brains and you probably dance well, yes?"

Sherlock nodded and managed to escape that night with a bruised cheekbone and a split lip. He spent the next five years learning from the old boxer, not only boxing skills, but he would also sit and listen to his stories, and realized listening was just as important as seeing and touching when it came to human behaviour. He learned when the old man was lying, or making something up, simply by watching certain landmarks in his face, but he also understood to let him tell the story his way, and not to interrupt. He considered the boxer his one true friend, someone who welcomed his presence and was willing to answer his questions, honestly if crudely at times. This odd mentorship lasted until the boxer missed a lesson and the bartender shook his head. "Sorry Sherl, he passed a couple days ago, funeral tomorrow, there's a wake tonight, if you wanna swap some stories about him, he was right fond of you." 

He shook his head biting his lip trying not to show anything and slowly removed the tape from his hands, "just toss this for me, yeah?" 

"You got, it, Sherl."

He never went back to his local, settled into his school work and managed to get into Cambridge, much to the surprise of his family who had stopped requesting his presence completely; Mycroft, naturally, sneered: "It's about time, dear brother."

 

He reflected on these bits of his past as he watched John sleep peacefully next to him. He had been struck speechless earlier that night when John turned his blown indigo eyes in his direction and told him, 

"I love you because you are different. You are unique, and I don't ever want you to change because you think I want that of you. I know relationships aren't your thing. I'm not great at them either, to be honest, maybe we can learn together?"

He had taken Sherlock's stunned face into his strong, capable hands and kissed him softly, "Give me a chance, yeah?" 

Somehow, he had managed to find that one person who found a certain grace in him where others only saw awkwardness, and love where others found only aloofness. He realized his brokenness played well with John's demons, they were simply stronger and more human together. Alone they were oddities, together they were a family, and he supposed that was that.

John's sleepy voice grumbled from under the duvet,"yer thinkin' too loud ya git, come 'ere." 

"Yes, love." Sherlock snuggled around his blogger and went back to sleep.


End file.
